


aegis

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Komaeda Nagito Being Komaeda Nagito, M/M, Nightmares, with a good ratio of about uhhh 10/90 percent each, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: “Komaeda,” Hinata says — and no, it’s actually Kamukura, Nagito can see the red eyes when he’s pushed away, held at an arm’s length, forced to look at the man in front of him. He’s struggling, that much is obvious.He still looks bored, disinterested, but, if Nagito didn’t know better, he’d say Kamukura looks a little guilty. Of what, Nagito has no idea. His words are a little softer from the usual monotone. “It was not my intention to upset you. I apologize.”





	aegis

**Author's Note:**

> i cant fucking believe ive never written a dangit grandpa fic before. wow

Waking up not of your own volition, whether because of heat, or alarm, has never — and  _will_ never — be pleasant. But there’s something extraordinarily awful about being awoken in cold sweat, feeling phantom pain from a nightmare already eluding your memory.

Nagito has thought he had already gotten used to it, but how does one get used to memories that feel like they’ve happened lifetimes ago, and yet yesterday simultaneously? He doesn’t have an answer to such a question, not yet.

Raising his left hand, he clenches his fingers a few times, listening to the quiet mechanical whirs. It seems to almost shine in the moonlight streaming in through the half-closed blinds, the metal polished and even the few scratches on its surface catching the light in an entrancing way.

It’s just what he needs to finally feel grounded again. No red nail polish.

“—ito?”

He blinks, arm falling back to his side as soon as he stops paying attention to it. Hinata is sitting in front of him, his hair escaping its ponytail, a few strands even falling into his face. Nagito feels an urge to brush it aside, to repair the ponytail to its usual grace, but he keeps still.

The traitorous part of his brain that never knows how to shut up is piping up again.  _You don’t deserve to touch him. You don’t deserve to be anywhere close to him. Look, you woke him up — again. Hah._

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, before even one more thought can register in his muddled brain. If he hates waking up from the nightmares, how must Hinata feel, having to deal with them, with being woken up out of nowhere every other night (if he’s especially lucky)?

Hinata’s eyes flash crimson for a second, even the one that’s usually golden like sunshine. He doesn’t have any discernible expression, nor does he open his mouth, but still Nagito can read Kamukura’s thoughts clear as if they’re written down on another health chart.

_How predictable._

Nagito can hear his voice, disinterested as per usual, clear even through the blood pounding in his ears.

But, as quick as it’d sprung up, the red in Hinata’s gaze melts off and he scoots forward, wrapping an arm around Nagito’s frame with little hindrance.

“It’s okay now,” he says, the words almost rehearsed at this point. The only difference is that Hinata makes them fond, warm, true. It’s so much effort, so much more than Nagito ever deserves that he can’t stop the tears that are suddenly in his eyes. Or maybe they’ve been there this whole time and he’d only noticed them now. Either way, they’re spilling and dirtying Hinata’s sleep shirt as they roll down Nagito’s cheeks.

He only realizes he’s apologizing for it when Hinata tells him not to worry about it. “It’s why we have a washing machine, you know?”

Nagito feels inclined to laugh —  _that’s what Hinata wants, after all, isn’t it?_  — but he’s still burying his face in the spot where Hinata’s neck meets his shoulder and it’s so, so very easy to picture Kamukura rolling those eyes for having to say something so banal. It’d be so easy to pull back and look, see that it’s Hinata holding him and talking to him, but Nagito can’t bring himself to, a little more than a little afraid, of confirming his fears and finding Kamukura staring down at him.

It would, of course, be a look he completely deserves, and if he’s being truthful with himself (which he isn’t all that often), he craves it just the tiniest bit. He’d already been graced with luck much greater than he ever deserved, so it’s only fitting an equal misfortune befalls him now. No matter what Hinata says, he doesn’t have definitive proof that Kamukura’s luck offsets his own. And if, by some miracle, it does, wouldn’t that just mean he’s even more boring to Kamukura now?

“I’m so—” he chokes, sniffling wetly and grossly. How can Kamukura — or even Hinata — put up with someone as disgusting as him? “I’m so sorry, Kamukura-kun.”

Nothing happens for all of four seconds, Hinata’s brain attempting to piece together Nagito’s unusual lack of explanations or even words, but when he does… Nagito is sure he’s never been crushed closer to Hinata’s chest than at this exact moment in time.

“Komaeda,” Hinata says — and  _no_ , it’s actually Kamukura, Nagito can see the red eyes when he’s pushed away, held at an arm’s length, forced to look at the man in front of him. He’s struggling, that much is obvious. He still looks bored, disinterested, but, if Nagito didn’t know better, he’d say Kamukura looks a little guilty. Of  _what_ , Nagito has no idea. His words are a little softer from the usual monotone. “It was not my intention to upset you. I apologize.”

Nagito reels, reaching up to grab the hands holding his shoulders, grasping them desperately, like a drowning man clinging to his last straw, like that would help him in any way.

“No!” he insists, his voice breaking from the sudden volume. “It’s me who’s sorry. I’m sorry I’m so predictable and that you’ve been forced to deal with someone as disgusting as me…”

Kamukura’s hands slips out of Nagito’s hold like the finest silk, one running over his wet cheek and cupping it. “Nagito, you’re anything but predictable.”

Nagito laughs, the sound bubbling up from within him out of the blue. “You don’t have to lie, Kamukura-kun! I can see the way you look at me. This piece of trash doesn’t deserve your pity!”

Kamukura sighs; Nagito wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole for making the other have to deal with him. But Kamukura keeps him where he is. “Nagito, do you think you bore me?”

The answer he must’ve already known, because not even Komaeda is caught off guard. “Of course, Kamukura-kun! Who wouldn’t be bored of someone like me?” He laughs more. He laughs and laughs and Kamukura —  _and_ Hinata — wants to tear his head off where it sits so prettily on his bony shoulders.

“You know,” Kamukura says instead. Hinata is  _trying_ to tell him what to say, but he knows what to say, knows exactly what lies would turn Nagito into a mush. He doesn’t need lies, though, nor does he need Hinata’s assistance. “It’s curious to house two beings in one body. Though I know exactly what Hinata does when I’m not in control, it feels more like watching from the sidelines. Sometimes I like to check up on you personally.”

Nagito listens diligently, like that’s what he’d been created to do. Kamukura can see the cogs spinning in his brain, grinding to a sudden halt when he comes to his conclusion.

“Kamukura-kun, you… you check up on…  _me_?” Nagito asks, like he can’t quite believe the words himself.

“Of course. Leaving you in just Hinata’s care, I’m sure you’d already have died.” He says it so simply, like it’s nothing to him. Nagito’s mind reels again.

Kamukura’s eyes flash with gold and his lips almost open to hiss at himself, but he’s stronger than Hinata, can keep him back with nary a blink.

To Nagito’s utter amazement, the next thing Kamukura does is lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

“You haven’t had enough sleep. Don’t worry, I will be here tomorrow,” Kamukura tells him, and it’s oh-so-easy to fall victim to his voice, to lay back down and let Kamukura card his fingers through his hair (it feels like he’s the one being worshipped; it feels utterly wrong, but he doesn’t want it to stop, as selfish as it is).

Sleep comes easily when his mind knows Kamukura doesn’t hate him now. He almost misses the next words from the other’s lips, but it’s not like he will remember them in the morning anyway.

“We both will.”


End file.
